My Station and Its Duties

In comments to this post, “Joshie” (who is much better read theologically than I am) criticized (rightly, I think) any doctrine of vocation that would encourage us “to stay in our little corners of the world and ‘do our thing.’” Part of the problem is that I don’t think I adequately presented Forde’s position, which I then tried to clarify.

But the whole discussion raises the issue of how we find a balance between caring for those who are closest to us (both physically and emotionally) and caring for the world at large. Virtually every system of ethics concocted by philosophers tells us that we should treat every person as counting for one and no more than one — that bonds of personal affection, blood relation, physical proximity, etc. are morally irrelevant to determining how we treat people. And yet, virtually every non-philosopher would say that they have greater obligations toward their family and friends, neighbors and countrymen than they do toward strangers.

For Christianity this tension becomes particularly acute, since the ethic propounded by Jesus so clearly requires us to reach out to those beyond our immediate circle of relations, including reaching out to those who wish us ill. So, any notion of vocation that leaves us content to care only for those near and dear to us cannot pass muster as a Christian doctrine.

On the other hand, even though we all (well, except for Christopher Hitchens) admire people like Mother Teresa for leaving their home and family to dedicate their lives to serving those most in need, we don’t usually think that we are all required to do the same. Luther’s idea of vocation grew out of his conviction that one served God best by loving one’s neighbor where we are placed – i.e. within the spheres of everyday activity such as work and family life.

This notion of vocation is uderwritten in part by a particular understanding of God’s providence. God cares for his creation by means of the institutions of human life – economy, family, government, etc. and it is precisely in and through those “places” that we find opportunities to serve our neighbor. This introduces an element of contingency into our obligations to others, whereas philosophical ethics has always tried to delineate the obligations we have to anyone and everyone, regardless of how we happen to be related to them (e.g. Rawls’ original position).

Here’s Augustine:

Further, all men are to be loved equally. But since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special regard to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstance, are brought into closer connection with you. For, suppose that you had a great deal of some commodity, and felt bound to give it away to somebody who had none, and that it could not be given to more than one person; if two persons presented themselves, neither of whom had either from need or relationship a greater claim upon you than the other, you could do nothing fairer than choose by lot to which you would give what could not be given to both. Just so among men: since you cannot consult for the good of them all, you must take the matter as decided for you by a sort of lot, according as each man happens for the time being to be more closely connected with you. (On Christian Doctrine, Bk. I, Ch. 29)

You could see the doctrine of vocation in part as an answer to how we decide who we are to help. Since we already find ourselves enmeshed in complex and overlapping webs of relationships (our families, our workplaces, our communities, etc.), that is where we can begin our service. And, more often than not, this will give us plenty to do! As Luther put it in comments on I Corinthians 7:20 (“Everyone should remain in the state in which he was called”):

How is it possible that you are not called? You have always been in some state or station; you have always been a husband or wife, or boy or girl, or servant. Picture before you the humblest estate. Are you a husband, and you think you have not enough to do in that sphere to govern your wife, children, domestics, and property so that all may be obedient to God and you do no one any harm? Yea, if you had five heads and ten hands, even then you would be too weak for your task, so that you would never dare to think of making a pilgrimage or doing any kind of saintly work. (quoted here.)

But truly learing to love those closest to us can impel us to move beyond the boundaries of our own little corner of the world. Gilbert Meilaender suggests that our particular stations in life serve as a kind of school of virtue, teaching us how to love others (and to mortify our own sinful selves). And this has the effect of forming us into the kind of people who will extend love more readily to those we are not related to in any special way:

Thus I marry my wife not because my love for her is a specification of some more universal regard for neighbors but because I am drawn to her in particular. But having committed myself to her, attempting to care for her well-being in particular, I may gradually become a person more ready to care for the good of any neighbor. (Gilbert Meilaender, Faith and Faithfulness, p. 53)

Someone who has been formed by the practice of genuinely loving others will be more sensitive to the call of need from outside their normal sphere. Thus love always points us beyond our present set of concerns. But it never escapes the concrete and the particular.

Meilaender again:

If the heart that trusts God does not seek unlimited responsibility for achieving what is best overall, neither can it be closed to the call for love and service in new ways. … Such decisions are always personal and particular. They cannot be made for anyone else. They cannot be willed universally for all similarly situated people. They cannot be made from an impersonal, objective standpoint that is nowhere in particular–for we never hear the call of God except at the place where we stand. (p. 103)

According to Meilaender, it’s not our job to take care of the entire world – that’s God’s job and to think otherwise would be a denial of our finitude and God’s providence. On the other hand, we need to be open to calls for greater commitment, calls which will arise from our particular situation in the world. This means neither an attempt to transcend our finitude (as with various psuedo-eschatologies for setting the world to rights) nor a complacent attitude of doing the bare minimum.